


Man Out of Time

by Anna_Stark



Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: Angst, Dara and Jamshid friendship, Dara deals with a lot of shit, Domestic activities, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Tamima mention, canon complaint, past trauma, set in the city of brass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Stark/pseuds/Anna_Stark
Summary: Dara and Jamshid open up and form a connection based on shared experiences. Sort of.
Relationships: Darayavahoush e-Afshin & Jamshid e-Pramukh
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Man Out of Time

_Dara wasn't sure where he was._

_He looked up, "An unfamiliar ceiling...", Dara muttered to himself_

_He felt weightless, hazy and a little woolly. A chill sensation of being wrapped in hallow darkness seeped through his bones; leaving him weary and jaded. He shut his eyes quick and opened them to clear his vision. Dara fought to pull himself up, he felt the ground beneath him sway as he perched up on his elbows, glancing over his surroundings to get a sense of where he was. He was smothered by a foggy treacherous darkness, except for the small patch of green grass where he lay and a ghost of a river near him. Dara stared off into space, eyebrows twitched, confusion marred his face._

_  
__"I feel like I've been here before," Dara quietly trailed off, but nothing came to mind, he felt like he's been plucked and dropped into somebody else's strange void by mistake._

_A soft airy familiar voice caused his breath to hitch, forced him to sit up straight and turn his head around, following the direction of the sound._

_"Daru! You're late..."  
  
The voice belonged to a little girl, no older than 9, dressed in a black and pink shirt, a short skirt made of silk and colored linen, the edges embroided with black colored ribbons, and a tight pair of colored silk pants underneath. Her hair was neatly plaited into two braids and tied with colorful ribbons. Her signature cheeky gap-toothed smile made his heart leap up for joy. _

_“Tamima…!" Dara felt elated, brows relaxed, let out a relieved sigh, his little sister, a small speck of happiness that was stolen from him a long time ago. One of the few memories of his that isn't tainted by his dark crimson past, a reminder that he wasn't always The Scourge, that he was more than a weapon. A reminder that he was a caring older brother blessed by a loving younger sister who he knew would go to war for. A memory that still manages to warm up his heart and keep him moving forward._

_"What are you doing here?" Dara drawled, tilted his head as though she waltzed in by accident. Dara didn't miss the way she pursed her lips and slumped her shoulders for a second before she recovered at his question. It was as though she was waiting with anticipation for him to say or do something. In that moment, he noticed she was hiding something behind her back, he slowly peered at her hands in an attempt to get a look. A small smile pulled up at the corner of his mouth, "What is it behind your back?" Dara asked, eyeing her, a feeling of fondness and sweetness rushed through him._

_Right on cue, Tamima's face perked up and a faint blush dusted her cheeks, "Right! This is for you, I picked it up near the garden with mom this morning." She held up a white bell-shaped flower, clutching it protectively with both her hands, chest puffed up with pride. "It wasn't easy to find! But my mom and I looked everywhere for it." Tamima said, grinning with excitement as she handed him a lily of the valley flower._

_Dara sat still for a moment, feeling overwhelmed as he accepted his sister's present. The image of his sister and mom looking for this particular flower as a gift sent a glimmer of happiness that pooled at the pit of his stomach. "It smells fresh, thank you." Dara said, smiling brightly, reaching out to pat his sister's head._

_"So, what did you pick for me?" Tamima asked, standing up straight with her hands behind her back, looking eager._

_Dara tilted his head in confusion, wondering what was he supposed to get her. Tamima's excitement dimmed and sighed, "You forgot again?"_

_“What?" Dara asked, feelings of anxiety and dread creeping back into him. Tamima smiled wistfully and looked down. "It's okay, you've been busy a lot lately"._

_Before Dara could say anything else the image of his sister started fading away in the distance. Unable to move, he extended his hand desperately trying to reach out to her in a futile attempt to understand what was happening. "Wait!" Dara cried out, "What did I do? What was I supposed to get?" Dara's voice didn't reach Tamima and her image dissolved into specks of dust._

_  
_Dara snapped back to reality, panting, heart beating fast, eyes damp and wide open, his arm still reaching out. He took a long breath before his arm dropped beside him. Still shaken by what his subconscious conjured. With a groan Dara rolled to his side, fumbling with sleepy fingers to tuck the duvet over his head. The painful throbbing in his head denied him another moment of rest so he rolled back, staring into nothing.

"Another unfamiliar ceiling.." Dara muttered to himself, staring into the shades of marmalade painted ceiling. It took Dara a moment to recognize where he was. He sat up, shook off the feelings of unease and turmoil that the strange dream he had left him with. Dara didn’t remember much of it already, but the effect of whatever it shown him still lingered within.

Dara got off the bed and headed to the bathroom to wash up and change. He pulled on a black high collared cotton tunic that reached his thighs and a pair of black pants that match. Dara was still transfixed, trying to recall what he saw in a dream that made him feel a strange mix of emotions he can't quite figure out yet. As soon as he opened his bedroom's door the sound of a tremolos overjoyed man interrupted his train of thought.

"Dara! You woke up just in time!" Jamshid beamed, quickened his pace to stand near Dara. Jamshid stood close enough that Dara could feel the overflowing energy he radiates without being invasive. His eyes sparkled with so much enthusiasm and joy Dara had to avert his eyes.

"I just got done making breakfast, would you like to join?" Jamshid asked in a chipper voice, looking up at Dara with hopeful eyes.

Dara couldn't say no even if he wanted to, Jamshid looked like he's about to burst, so he inclined with a soft shrug, "Sure, why not? Can't wait to compare our cooking skills." Dara couldn't help his lips from curling upward in a joyous smile, "Let's see what the son of a Grand Wazir has on me." Dara flexed in a playful tone that Jamshid recognized, making the other man smile brightly.

Jamshid took a sudden step back, "Good morning and may the fires burn brightly for you," Jamshid bowed. "I apologize, I lost myself in the excitement," Jamshid said and smiled sheepishly. The earnest and genuine reaction prompted a chuckle out of Dara.

"It's alright, don't fret over it, we're past the formalities now." Dara reassured Jamshid and patted his shoulder. "Now let's go eat." Dara clasped his hands and rubbed them together. Jamshid nodded with smile that reached his eyes and started walking.

Jamshid led the way to the dining room. It was a small scale room, fitting for a family of two with few guests in mind. The walls and ceiling are painted in an earthly pigment color, with several portraits that reflect daeva culture and history hung. There's a tall red case in the corner that displays antique, small art and houses extra plates and silverware in its bottom drawers. The panel shaped curtains have a brush fringe on the leading edge and are hung from a decorative knob. The window shades were small enough to provide privacy but placed in a way enough light illuminates the room.

Dara shifted his eyes to the wooden dining table, it was set for two; the breakfast was a combination of hot tea, a variety of flat bread, butter cubes, white cheese, sarshir, a variety of citrus fruits and jams. He also noted a hot bowl of halim and two bowls of lentil soup.

“Nahri told me you fancy lentil soup," Jamshid said as he followed Dara's gaze and took a seat. Dara jerked his head towards Jamshid in surprise. "I met with her yesterday at the Grand Temple," Jamshid stated as he tore his flat bread in half and spread strawberry jam all over it. He opened his mouth for a moment before closing it again, contemplating his next words, "She's worried about you and asked me if there's a way to know how you're doing." Jamshid was done spreading butter on the other half of the flat bread, clasping them together and rolling them up then looked at Dara, "I wasn't suppose to tell you that, but it didn't feel right to hide it from you, I felt bad enough about not telling her that you're already here." Jamshid said, averting his eyes, guilt lacing his voice and feeling disappointed with himself for lacking enough courage to disobey his father in that particular instant, "I told her you're doing fine and that you'll be able to come soon." Jamshid waited a moment for a response, and when he didn't get any he proceeded, "If there's a message you'd like me to deliver to her I'd be more than happy to. It's the least I could do."

Dara stilled in his seat, his heart leaped at the mention of Nahri. He's been so worked up about a dream he had he forgot to think up a way to see her again. He looked at the lentil soup before him and took a sip, keeping in mind that it's Nahri's way of looking after him and making sure he's looked after; that train of thought made him feel a combination of giddiness and yearning, the mushy texture coated his tongue and its earthly peppery rich flavor warmed him up well. The strong taste brought up memories of their journey across the desserts and bodies of water, from Cairo to Daevanad. As much as Dara was happy to be back home, he sort of wished their journey lasted longer. The company of the former thief swelled Dara's heart with joyful happiness he never thought was possible; the witty banter, the mundane and plain everyday conversations and thoughtful unconscious caring gestures that helped them form a connection and kept them alive made him momentarily forget his past, what he's done, what the future holds for him and live in a wishful fantasy as normal daeva for once, however short that time period may be, Dara appreciated every minute of it.

Dara poured himself a cup of tea and blew on it a couple of times for it to cool off. "Don't worry about it. I'll find a way to see her and let her know I'm okay." Dara said grinning to Jamshid as he dipped a piece of flat bread into his tea cup, letting it soak for a few seconds, "Thank you for keeping her company and listening to her." Dara trailed off, "Being new here, in the palace of all places is hard enough, but she's tasked with a new lifestyle she's never been accustomed to. She must be lonely and needs someone who's as genuine and honest as you are.” Dara said, looking at Jamshid with a smiling face. “She's our Banu Nahida, we have to do everything we can to protect her." Dara added, and in a swift motion he gulped the piece of tea-soaked flatbread into his mouth. 

Jamshid felt a blush spread across his cheeks, "Ah— of- of course!" No matter how old he got, receiving a direct compliment from his childhood hero meant the world to him and will always render him a stammering mess.

However, Jamshid didn't miss the quiet discomfort and melancholy that clouded Dara's face for a second before masking it. The long silence worried Jamshid, he wasn't sure if he did or said something wrong, or if something was on Dara's mind for a while, but the demeanor shift of the daeva sitting before him after he brought up Nahri made him concerned. He wasn't sure what he could say to get Dara's mind off of whatever got him feeling that way, so he suggested the first thing that came to mind.

“Um, would you like to accompany me to the Grand Bazaar? There's a certain Plaza I'm sure you'll like, and maybe _you_ can show me places you used to go to in the past." Jamshid said standing up. Going to the Bazaar was one of the few activities that he and his father bonded over, whenever he felt off or out of it his father would invite him to spend a couple of hours just observing the fair and occasionally getting one or two items home. It wasn't much but it always made Jamshid happy. "There's a nice shawarma restaurant we could have lunch at, it's on me!" Jamshid noted patting his palm over his chest a couple of times with a grin on his face.

  
Dara looked at Jamshid for a minute. He was keen on the idea of the bazaar but then.. _Shawarma..?_ He wasn't sure what that meant, but nonetheless shook the thought off as quickly as it came and smiled back at Jamshid and nodded in agreement. "That sounds great, I haven't been to the Bazaar since ages ago, well aside from when I first arrived with Nahri, it'd be nice to see how much things have changed." Dara said as he got up and stretched out his limbs with a groan. "There's a place near the Bazaar I remember from my childhood that I'd like to show you too, it's a small garden where my friends and I used to play." Dara smiled fondly at the bleary memory. He can barely visualize the image in his head, but he can still see shadows of kids wearing dirty commoner attire having the time of their lives running around and playing in the field, Dara's heartbeats picked up at the idea of revisiting one of the few places that occupied a warm place in his heart.

Jamshid breathed a sigh of relief, "Alright, I'll clean up the breakfast table and get ready to go", Jamshid proceeded to pick up the plates to put them back, noticing Dara helping out from the corner of his eye as he skipped to the kitchen.

Dara and Jamshid left the house soon after. Their walk was mostly silent. Dara was taking in the new face of Daevabad, breathing in the air and admiring his city. Dara didn't notice when exactly did the red concrete brick ground turn into sand-packed paths and the madhouse of the bazaar can be heard all the way. Dara stood still for a moment, like something been missing, reexamining their journey in his head, bobbing his head left and right then standing still in deep thought, like he's searching for a lost item and trying to remember where he had last seen it.

 _I'm sure it was here somewhere_.

"—then we can go check out the Plaza I told you about." Jamshid said turning to face Dara.

Dara snapped out of his train of thought and looked at Jamshid, "Right, let's go." Dara said, leading the way to the Bazaar in a faster pace. He didn't feel like enquiring Jamshid about the garden, something about asking someone from a different timeline with regards to the existence of a place close to his heart did not feel right. If the garden was ruined or buried, Dara didn't want to know about it. Still, the mere possibility of it not existing anymore was enough to make Dara feel a painful pang in his heart.

The Grand Bazaar was a beautiful lively colorful mess, bustling with the noise of people from all over the djinn world, buzzing, humming and hectic. Everyone is busy and enjoying themselves walking around the different shops and examining all the items that shopkeepers provide.

_At least some things never change,_

Dara smiled to himself.

Seeing the Grand Bazaar as busy and crowded as ever sent a sense of comfort relief in his heart. He looked around window shopping, admiring all the new items he wasn't familiar with.

“This way." Jamshid tapped Dara's shoulder to alert him of their next move. They took a turn into a different part of the Bazaar, it was much quieter with less merchants, lesser crowd and looked more refined. Jamshid pointed to a shop with a cheerful look on his face. When Dara looked at where Jamshid pointed, he let out an audible gasp. The shop specialized in selling all kinds of steel quality weapons; khanjars, swords, daggers, arrows and more.

Dara's eyes glued to the display section, like a kid ogling a candy shop. Jamshid looked pleased with himself for picking up the perfect spot, "I'll check out some books and art supplies from the next shop, I'll get back to you once I'm done." Jamshid couldn't hide the giddiness in his voice as he said so. Dara nodded in acknowledgment then turned his head back to the shop before him. The one item that caught his attention was a Suri khanjar; it's made in the city of Sur, small sized and light weighted. Dara picked it up and took a closer look. Its handle was gold-coated while the sheath is leather decorated with silver wire and strings embroided with gold. The sheath ends with a silver cone embossed with artistic forms. Dara decided that if there's one item he'd take with him from the bazaar, that'd be it.

He turns around to see where Jamshid went, once he caught up with him, he noted Jamshid holding a couple of books, papers and art supplies, but before he could show him the khanjar a strange looking item caught his eye. It looked like it's a long thick stone, has pointy ends and is covered with a sheet of leather. It was too odd to be a stick but Dara couldn't figure out what else it could be, so he picked it up and looked at it with intent. Feeling the odd sensation that he's being watched he turns around to the face of a mortified red-faced Jamshid. "What is this?" Dara asked, genuinely not knowing what it is. Jamshid crept closer looking around, hiding the lower half of his face with a sheet of paper and whispered, "That's um, a paraphernalia for-" Dara can tell Jamshid was struggling to find the appropriate word, "it's a tool for pleasure." Jamshid said the last part in a hushed voice. Dara blushed and dropped the item on cue.

Dara was horrified. It's not like he didn't know about the existence of such items, but he wasn’t used to them being displayed in public like _that._ Back in the day, there were special places and shops that sell items of that nature. It wasn't available everywhere nor easily accessible let alone in the Grand Bazaar. Embarrassment colored his cheeks and he hoped to the Creator that no one caught him.

A soft chuckle caught his attention. Jamshid got over the incident fast enough and now he was looking at Dara. "It's okay I don't think that anyone saw you holding it," Jamshid reassured, his lips curling up in a soft smile that lit up his face, his eyes glanced over at Dara's new Khanjar and looked in awe."It looks neat! I'm glad you found something to your liking." Dara smiled to himself admiring the item he picked up for himself. "It looks a lot like an old dagger I had in the past." Dara said as he placed the dagger in his belt.

They stopped at a shop nearby and Jamshid showed him two pieces of paper, "Look! I got us two tickets to see a play tomorrow afternoon! They sell out quick so I took the liberty of getting one for you," Jamshid sounded ecstatic, "You don't have to come to the theater if you don't want to." Jamshid added the last part after seeing the blank expression on Dara's face, which did not encourage him to persist the idea of going to the theatre any further.

It's not that Dara is opposed to going to the theatre, it's that he'd like to know what a "theatre" is and what does it entail. He doesn't have much to do to keep him from going, it's the fact that he had never heard of a "theatre" before and was too ashamed by his ignorance to let it slip, masking his confusion with a smirk instead. "I'm going, it's not like I'm busy with anything else." Dara said in a nonchalant manner. Dara wanted to add a sarcastic side note, but his utter ignorance of what a theatre is prevented him for fear it'll blow up his cover.

For the next hour they strolled down the rest of the bazaar, and Jamshid kept making stops every time he spotted a book shop or an art supplies corner, admiring every item and buying ones he needed. Which wasn't an issue for Dara at all, in fact, Dara found it endearing. However, there were multiple times where Jamshid showed him a couple of items which Dara couldn't recognize; a black shaped box with tons of buttons and symbols on them, sand trapped in a glass shaped bowl connected to another glass shaped bowl through a tube trapped by 4 thick wooden sticks, a large wooden wheel connected to other pieces of wood with a thread going around it, and two bits of curved pieces of glass framed by wooden material among others. Dara never dared ask, not after the previous incident. But it was more than simple embarrassment, Dara didn’t take to feeling unfamiliar in a familiar place, a place that supposed to make him feel home. So, instead of showing any interest or a hint of curiosity to anything new to him Dara would act aloof, disinterested or pretend he found a new captivating detail in his khanjar. The more time he spent in the Bazaar the smaller and less significant he felt.

An image of an old shop that belonged to _Ahura Darius_ flashed across Dara's mind, so he decided to look for it. Even if the owners changed, there's a chance their descendants still owned the shop. Dara didn't remember much of it, but he recalls they used to sell sweets and dates. If Dara tried hard enough he thinks he could recall the sweet sensation of their snacks.

Dara looked around then caught the attention of a shopkeeper whom Jamshid was buying a black ink from. The old wrinkly shop keeper looked at Dara's curious gaze, "May I help you young man?" he asked.

"I'm looking for a shop that belongs to Ahura Darius, ever heard of it?" Dara asked casually.

The shopkeeper waved his hands off, "I apologize, I've never heard of them or the shop they run."

Dara hid the disappointment he felt but pressed on, "Do you know anyone who could locate it?"

The old man looked offended, "I've been in this business for centuries if I couldn’t know it there's a slight chance anyone will."

Dara apologized to the old man, his mouth curving into a tight-lipped smile, motioning for Jamshid to move forward.

Even though Dara knew it was a futile attempt, he couldn't help but ask, just to stop the heavy feeling crawling at the pit of his stomach from lingering and growing.

"I'll keep my stuff at the safety of someone I know here, then we can get lunch." Jamshid said, flustered at how much stuff he ended up getting. Dara nodded and sat in a vacant space waiting for Jamshid.

Dara sat staring into nothing, tuning out the noise and letting himself be still for a while. He didn't want to think about the strange dream he had, not the landmarks, intimate and cozy places he grew up with and impacted his childhood with a positive influence fading away, rendered as someone else's past memories; dissolved into nothingness with time. He didn't want to think about how much life changed, how his city and its people moved on and flourished leaving him behind, a stained mark in its past, too late and too old to catch up. A cold chill pooled at his lower back, slowly spreading and crawling its way up. Dara hated that feeling and hated not knowing what it was and what's causing it to visit him often.

Jamshid didn't miss how jaded and aghast Dara looked for a while. He thought he'll have more time to think of a way to help him or get him to talk about what's bothering him on his way to deposit the items he got at an acquaintance's shop. Jamshid could guess why Dara hasn't been feeling well lately. They've talked about it once before, and Dara expressed how he felt regarding the changes in the city. Jamshid figured that he's still struggling to adjust. The comment about an old shop and Jamshid's own futile attempts at getting Dara to indulge at the Bazaar's festivities did not help and further reaffirmed his suspicion.

A shadow blocked the sunrays bathing Dara, he looked up and noticed Jamshid looking at him with a smiling face. "Let's head out to the tavern for lunch and a couple of drinks, then we'll head home." Jamshid said as he bent and held out his hand to help Dara get up, postponing their visit to the Shawarma corner he mentioned earlier. Dara gave him a crooked smile and clasped his hand with Jamshid's, not trusting himself to say anything.

Jamshid picked a small moderate tavern hiding in a corner of a street far away from the Bazaar. It was the afternoon so Jamshid hoped it'd be empty save for one or two people. He wanted to give Dara a room to breathe.

The outer side of the tavern did not look inviting. The building looked as though weather and time took their toll on its exterior. It was a fair distance from the tavern but it was too quiet. The place might as well be abandoned. Dara was on edge.

"You know, there's a mansion owned by a bitter old lady who hypnotizes bad kids and sends them to the marid's lake to be shredded to pieces. We could've gone there." Dara pointed out.

"It's not that bad!" Jamshid jerked his face towards Dara looking flustered.

"Not that bad? If it weren't for the surrounding area I'd think _ifrit_ lived in there!" Dara argued but kept walking. "Just so you know if this was some trick to euthanize me to earn brownie points from the emir I might be into it some other time, but not today. I still haven't had a chance to rub the floor with little zaydi's nose with my new khanjar." Dara smirked to himself visualizing the last part. "Unless you plan on torturing me, just know I'm not above doing a number of things to survive. You know me." Dara rambled on, folding his arms behind his back.

"Look, I just thought you could use some alone time in a quiet place where you don't get a lot of attention and hoards of people flock to you. I figured this may be the only place you could enjoy date wine in peace." Jamshid said, biting back a chuckle. "I could never betray our hero, not for any emir." Jamshid said earnestly looking at Dara, he felt like he needed to add the last part.

“So jealousy is the motive, eh?" Dara joked, then put his hands in his pockets and furrowed his eyebrows, "Was I too obvious." Dara muttered and stopped in front of the tavern's doors.

"Yes, no one broods as hard as you do." Jamshid opened the door and they both entered.

"I did have fun at the Bazaar though, so thank you." Dara said giving Jamshid a small smile who beamed and nodded in return.

The tavern looked better from the inside. It was modest. Wooden interior, two floors. The first floor is the tavern area; where food and liquor are being served. The tavern had a few shelves stacked with books and board games for the patrons to enjoy, there were around five wooden tables, only one is occupied. The second floor is the inn itself, where a number of small but cozy rooms with feather beds are placed.

"See?" Jamshid said, motioning with both his hands in a show of display.

Jamshid and Dara picked a table at the corner, close to the bookcase, and ordered a pair of bowls of vegetable stew and spiced up rice. Dara looked relaxed in the tranquility and coziness of the tavern. Jamshid perked up at his friend's languid demeanor. Jamshid figured they'd order a couple of drinks afterwards then head home for the day.

However, the peacefulness of the cozy tavern didn't last. The owner wasn't above spreading the news of the Afshin being at his tavern to earn extra customers. Now every few minutes the doors would fly open, a new flock of daeva men would clutter the place and make the stay unbearable by the minute. Jamshid was irritated.

Jamshid looked at Dara who was drinking and telling stories of his old life in an animated fashion. He wasn't sure how much time passed or how many drinks Dara had, but he stopped drinking over an hour ago. Dara told numerous stories about the old Daevabad but in a weird shift in conversation, Jamshid only spaced out for a minute, he started talking about his grandmother. Jamshid wasn't into the scene, but he waited because he had an inkling feeling that Dara may need his help somehow getting out of this. So far everything seemed fine, other than Dara gradually raising the volume of his voice, nothing too bad. Dara did look more excited to share stories about his grandmother and Jamshid was sort of interested in the kind of woman she was.

"Your grandmother sounds like a lovely person." Said a random young daeva man.

"She is! As long as you're not a lancross fan." Dara chuckled as he took another sip.

"Lan— what?" another random confused voice asked.

Dara put down his mug and took a look at the many confused blank faces surrounding him. The sudden silence after what seemed like an eternity of noise and laughter was jarring. Dara felt a sinking heaviness in his stomach, a feeling of restlessness and doubt trickling into his mind. Dara rubbed the nape of his neck to ease the sudden pain that surged through it, he sat straight and looked at the crowed facing him, a tight-lipped smile curled up his face, choosing his next words carefully. "It's just the name of a an old sports team that crushed the team she used to root for that's all." Dara made sure not to mention the sport, he's certain they don't play it in Daevabad anymore and he couldn't take being looked at like _that_ ever again. Like he's some strange traveler with stories from another life to tell to entertain a crowd, and not an actual native citizen of Daevabad that gave his heart and soul to protect it.

Dara wished someone would break the silence because the utter quietness is making him restless. He wished he could find a way to slip away without being noticed but that's not possible with all eyes being centered on him.

“Uh- How did her team get crushed? How bad was the score?" It was an awkward way to break the silence. But it was an attempt made by the same person who's question led to this awkward silence To begin with. The next few words escaped Dara's mouth without thinking, "It was 4 times the hexagonal score, so, very bad." Dara spit them quick. Only realizing a little too late that he made a mistake.

_Shit_

_  
_Dara knew the new number system daevabadis use. He has no idea _why_ he unconsciously resorted back to the old system. If the silence was defeating before, it's deadly now. Dara felt the air suffocating him, mouth dried, and breathing wasn't coming easy. Everyone leaned in looking both focused and confused, expecting an explanation or a follow up comment, but Dara was too frustrated and agitated to give either. Everything he felt since this morning accumulated in this instance and all he wanted was to go home.

It was in that exact moment that Jamshid got out the rest room. He immediately felt the intense discomforting and awkward atmosphere. He looked Dara's way, his breath hitched at the way Dara's shoulders slouched and looked shrunk in his seat, with a hoard of daevas surrounding him like vultures.

A sudden sound broke the silence, "Everyone! Who fancies playing a game of catur?" Jamshid shouted to get everyone's attention while holding one of the board games he picked up from the shelf near the table they sat at. Everyone cheered in agreement and sat back, waiting to see who's names will be picked up to play first.

Dara was finally able to breathe.

"Darayavahoush!"

Dara looked to his left and a pair of daevas pulled a small sheet of paper with a scribble written on it, assuming his name was on it, meaning that he's invited to play. Dara was hesitant, but he physically couldn't say no. So they took his silence as him accepting the match.

“You don't have to play if you don't want to, I could play for you." Jamshid whispered, standing next to him. Looking worried and sorry that his plan to get the attention off of him had backfired.

"Nah it's okay, don't worry, I got this." Dara waved off Jamshid's offer, and he cursed himself for it.

“Alright, let's see what you got." Dara pushed himself forward, it's a simple game and he'll get through one match before heading home. It shouldn't be that difficult to power through a few more minutes.

But when Dara sat down, he froze in shook, the pieces of the game looked different from the ones he's familiar with. He's used to the pieces having shapes and symbols that reflect their roles; however, this game did not have that. It has flat wooden pieces with the names of each piece written on it. Dara concealed his dismay; his face unreadable. He was perplexed, was this a prank? A ploy to put him on the spot to earn a few laughs? Is this what the modern daevas do for entertainment? Or were these daevas ignorant of the fact that Afshins were never permitted to learn how to write and read.

"Come on! It's your turn now." His opponent urged, clearly tired of waiting.

Dara looked at the pieces before him then took a quick glance at the audience that seemed to be twice as many. That was a mistake. Dara noted their anticipated stares, mouths curving upwards and the impatience signs of feet and finger tapping. Time seemed to move in an excruciatingly slow pace. The return of the chill heaviness pooling at the bottom of his back, spreading like an infection, amplifying his own sense of vulnerability and displacement that triggered his fight or flight response.

Dara got up and left without saying a word.

Dara tuned out the voices around him and the voices within, the further he got away the faster he ran. The wine effect making him feel dizzy, he felt the ground sway from beneath him and his vision blurry, he accidentally bashed his hip and elbows into several corners, but he didn't care, he kept on going. All he wanted to do was get away from that place as long as his feet could take him. He couldn't tell how long he's been running or where he's headed to, all he knew is that he needed to be alone for a while. For the first time Dara did not over think the consequences of what he had just done, he just _acted_.

He made it to a semi secluded place in the forest, one that seemed to have been occupied and lived in a long time ago. It was a large open field littered with overgrown grass surrounded by a row of large trees, there was a faint muddy looking row that's slightly sunken compared to the rest of the area, it extended as far as he could see. Dara bent down, resting his palms over his knees, he felt his lips all dried up and throat itchy, so he licked his lips and swallowed his saliva a couple of times to ease the scratchiness of his throat. Dara took several long breaths, then looked around. He wasn't sure where he was, but the place didn't look completely alien to him. He noted a rubble of stones stained by mold and surrounded by clumps of grass to his left. Dara walked towards the rubble and took a closer look to examine it. There were ancient carvings at the edge of a stone he picked up, however faint they were, he could still tell that they belonged to Daevas from his time.

Dara shot up, he felt a pang of hurt and homesickness engulf his chest as he recognized what these stones were for, or rather, what they used to be. He didn't remember them that well, but he knew what they represented. These stones were once part of a large fancy series of pillars in which people celebrated several festivals, victories and parties around. It used to be the default spot every time his people hosted a joyous feast. Seeing the place reduced to overgrown weed and mold, smelling of chalky dust and rot broke Dara's heart. He couldn't help seeing a reflection of himself in what's left of a legendary landmark that meant a great deal to his people at the time be rendered a forgotten rotten mess, nothing but disposable garbage at worst, or a sightseeing landmark to be looked and observed with no regards to its cultural value at best.

The sound of rustling in the grass interrupted Dara's train of thoughts, he felt someone's quiet footsteps approaching, he turned around and met Jamshid's concerned face.

“I went to pay the owner of the tavern so we could leave immediately. I didn't think you were obligated to play if you didn't feel up to it," Jamshid bit his lower lip, "But by the time I came back you were gone." Jamshid looked down, "I'm sorry, I knew you weren't comfortable, I should've put more effort." Jamshid said, looking at Dara.

"How'd you find me?" Dara said, avoiding making eye contact with Jamshid.

"You left quite the trail," Jamshid pointed out, "And it's not hard to trail a handsome Afshin warrior with emerald eyes." Jamshid tilted his head and smiled at the last part.

Jamshid looked around, observing Dara's stance; he looked downcast, drained and tired. "What is this place? I don't think I've been here before." Jamshid wondered, making his way to Dara, standing before a rubble of stone.

Dara took a long breath, scanning the field one more time, "I think this used to be an area where our people often celebrated different occasions." Dara answered with a casual shrug. "I remember a certain spring festival I used to attend to with my family every year, it was called Al-Diaa festival." Dara added, for some reason, when he voiced those words out more details started flocking to his mind about the festivals that used to be held here. "It wasn't anything grand or important, we would dress up, pick up flowers or prepare them a day or two prior to the festival day and give them to people who we wish happiness for, and to those who brought us happiness too." Dara said, a shadow of a smile plastered across his face. "It was kind of fun the next day too, the teen daevas would gather at the garden the following morning with their own bouquet of flowers that they’ve received, each would compare their own to the rest and brag about it." This time, Dara looked at Jamshid, smiling sheepishly at the memory.

"That's beautiful." Jamshid said in awe, eyes sparkling at the image of hoards of daevas dressed in colorful attire exchanging flowers in spring. Jamshid was also relieved that Dara seemed to be doing better. "I'm sure your bouquet was always invincible compared to the rest, yes?" Jamshid chuckled.

“Do you even have to ask?" Dara smirked Jamshid's way, raising one brow and placing a hand on his hip, "Yes, mine always won, not only because I had the most, but I always had the rarest ones." Dara added proudly, which earned another chuckle from Jamshid. 

Dara's eyes focused on the faint muddy sunken panel for a few moment before he let out a faint gasp, Dara was struck with an epiphany.

_The patch of green grass. The pillars. The river. A bell-shaped flower._

  
Jamshid noticed the way Dara looked the way opposite of him, clinched one of his hands into a tight fist, and used the other to cover his mouth, but before he could ask what went wrong Dara asked, in a very faint but clipped voice, "Ah, could you bring home the food you mentioned earlier for dinner? I think I need a lot more time to brood." Jamshid could tell that he struggled to push those words out, if the trembling hand covering the lower half of his face wasn't enough of a sign, the tight-lipped smile on Dara's face as he turned to face Jamshid, a futile attempt to mask his anguish was enough. Jamshid stood straight, he knew when someone needed the company of another, and when someone truly needed to be alone. He silently bowed, "I'll bring you the best shawarma your mouth will ever taste." Jamshid paused for a second, "I'll wait for you to come home so we could eat together." And with that, Jamshid left.

As soon as Jamshid was out of sight, Dara dropped on his knees and wept.

Dara wept the loss of his city, the loss of his family and the loss of his sister's innocence. Dara wept at his own wasted years, robbed youth and at being used and abused. He wept at being denied the mercy of death. Dara grabbed a fistful of dirt and grass; glaring at the ground, allowing himself to doubt, to think for himself for once; if anything he's ever done been truly worth it. If his sister hated him or blamed him for the sack of their city and for her last painful moments of her life.

Dara wondered if the dream he had meant that his sister was disappointed in him, her way of communicating how hurt she is at him neglecting her for the sake of The Nahids' schemes. He wondered if she'd ever forgive him if he had a chance to talk to her, or if she'd refuse to give him a chance at all.

Dara had no concrete way of knowing any of this, so for once, he allowed himself to breakdown and cry.

* * *

  
Jamshid brimmed with feelings of melancholic nostalgia as he stared at one of the many portraits of him and his childhood friends from when he used to live at the countryside, it was a drawn portrait documenting one of their seasonal activities, it captured a shot of him and his friends at the end of a pie eating contest, he didn't win, but his messy purple-ish face let him know he tried his best and that was enough. Jamshid kept flipping the pages of the book where he stored these memories, recognizing every event and every occasion of each portrait. Jamshid turned the current page he was stuck on for a few minutes, his eyes twitched at seeing the next portrait, one he drew himself, it was of one of the male daevas he grew up with, Yazan; he had long jet black hair, big hazel eyes and a gentle smile. And next to it was the last page of the book, holding the last portrait drawn of them together before he moved to the city. Jamshid put all the portraits back in place and headed to his room to return them back to the bottom drawer of his dresser.

Jamshid was startled at the sound of wind chimes coming from the backyard. He went to check if he forgot to slide back the door that led to the backyard garden, but he found Dara, sitting at the entrance of the door perched up on his palms, letting his legs dangle outisde, facing the garden. Jamshid breathed a sigh of relief.

The room that separated the house from the garden wasn't anything special, it was small, brown walls and ceiling. A closet in the corner used to store extra duvets, pillows and other stuff no one is sure where else to put, and another smaller closet used to store Jamshid's art supplies. A slide door separates that room from the garden and the top was decorated with a couple of wind chimes. 

"I thought if I were a little too late, you'd eat my share too." Dara said, still facing forward. Jamshid smiled to himself and walked in. "You know, I was just looking through old portraits of my childhood friends and I, ever since you mentioned the story about the festival. I yearned to take a look at my own past life too." Jamshid said as he headed for the small closet, opened the second drawer and rummaged through it.

"Yeah? And where are they now?" Dara said, but Jamshid could tell his mind was elsewhere.

"They don't live here, so I have no idea what they're up to." Jamshid said as he pulled a couple of sketch books, colors and brushes out the drawer, "I don't think I've mentioned it before, but I was born and raised in the country side." Jamshid added, holding the supplies he got from the Bazaar earlier that day. The last part got Dara's attention and he looked at Jamshid for a second before turning back. "Oh, I didn't know that." Dara said in a faint voice.

It was just a second, but it was enough for Jamshid to note Dara's swollen eyes, reddish cheeks, and his misty emerald eyes that glistened under the moonlight. Jamshid took a deep breath and trailed off, "Yeah, I used to live there till my 13th year, then I was told to move to the city. I didn't actually want to move, I loved being there; the fun activities that are otherwise deemed barbaric here, the genuinely kind, simple and chattering folks, the nature and fresh air in general was a better environment for me," Jamshid paused for a moment as he sat down and placed his supplies neatly in front of him. "We were a group of five kids that grew up together, the village I lived in was small, so all kids from all ages went to one school and attended one class." Jamshid said sheepishly, as though he's sort of ashamed of the low quality education he received. "My fondest memory is of us creating a time capsule; where each one of us would put some of our most precious possessions, letters to our future selves and anything else we wanted in a box, seal it, bury it and reunite a few decades later to open it and see what's inside."

"That sounds really nice, did you get to open it yet?" Dara asked, looking intently at Jamshid from the corner of his eye. Dara was laying down, arms crossed behind his head, legs still dangling outside.

Jamshid stilled, looking deep in thought as he pulled a sheet of paper, picked up a brush and dipped it in black ink then started stroking the tip of the brush on the paper. "No, we never managed to do that. I had a small goodbye gathering before I left. I was very sad, but didn't object because it's what my father wanted, and I was under the impression that my friends and I would always stay in contact; we just had to write each other letters. And for the first few months that’s what happened, we exchanged letters but I stopped receiving any after a certain amount of time." Jamshid said, eyes downcast but he kept on drawing.

"Moving to the city wasn't easy, I've suffered homesickness a lot, and the nature of people and social protocol is completely different that what I was used to. I forced myself to get used to it and pushed forward because that would make my father happy." Jamshid smiled wistfully. "I kept telling myself that being cut off from them might serve me and push me to move on and create my own life here with no attachments to the past, but I'd occasionally linger on my rose-colored lenses of the past and yearn to go back."

Jamshid took a deep breath before uttering the next part, "A few years ago I managed a trip back. Thinking that we could all gather and head to the place where we hid the time capsule and see what's inside, because honestly, I didn't remember what I put nor what I wrote in my letter to my future self." Jamshid said then turned his face upwards because of a shuffling sound he heard. Dara was fully facing him, his face looking focused. "When I went there, everything felt different and I stood out like a sore thumb. Locations, people and the whole atmosphere was completely different that the picture I kept in my head.” Jamshid bit his inner cheek "Even worse, I found out that the group I hung out with broke up because of a fight, and been on terrible terms for years." Jamshid sighed.

"I'm so sorry." Dara said, opening his mouth then closing it, feeling bad that there's nothing he could say that could make the situation better.

"It's alright. Don't worry about it." Jamshid said as he took a deep breath. "I went to a tavern there and spoke to the bartender. He told me that no one knew what triggered the fight, but he said that one of the members of the group was constantly getting bullied by the other three, he said it drove him to off himself using rumi fire, they all left the village after that incident." Jamshid said in a monotone voice.

Dara flinched at the last part, looking mortified.

There was a long moment of silence before Jamshid broke it, "'Sometimes I wonder if things would've been different had I stayed, had I put my foot down and refused to leave, would I have been able to stay? Would I have been able to settle things between them? Would they have had a fight to begin with?' These thoughts kept haunting my mind for months." Jamshid trailed off, trying to pull himself together while stroking the brush against his sheet of paper.

"Did you get to see the time capsule?" Dara enquired, sitting on his crossed legs, hoping that this tale has at least one good thing happening in it, if only to give Jamshid closure.

Jamshid stared at the sheet of paper, then back at Dara, an ambivalent smile crossed his face, "No, I couldn't. There was a building constructed over the space we buried the capsule in, but even if the space remained empty, I don't think I would've been able to dig it after I found out what my friends did, after what had….happened, and what it drove my closest friend to do." Jamshid said in a tight voice.

There was another moment of silence, Dara lay on his back, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling above, contemplating whether to ask his next question, "Do you think your friend ever blamed you for leaving? And the fallout of the group?" Dara asked in a hushed voice, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

  
Jamshid thought of the question while looking at the almost complete piece of art he’s working on, for both himself and Dara, he choose his next words carefully, "I don't know." He drawled in a flat voice, doing his best not to let his own emotions seep into his tone, this wasn't about him, this was about Dara. "The letters probably included clues that I missed, and I learned later that my father prevented letters from reaching me, so it's possible that he may have resented me for it." Jamshid bit his bottom lip, "However, during our time together, I loved him dearly and I always made it clear, and he knew that. I can't control or change the past, but I find solace in the fact that when I was with him, I did my best to make him happy, and I know that he loved me all the same. So, I'm hoping that that was enough for him to know that I would have been there for him if I knew about any of what was going on." Jamshid said, smiling to himself.

For a few minutes there was nothing but the sounds of wind chimes and brush strokes filling the air.

"Uh, listen..", Jamshid hesitantly broke the silence. "I'm not trying to compare our experiences because I know that it's not on the same scale, not even close." Jamshid furrowed his eyebrows trying to find the right words to say, "All I want to say is that, I understand how you feel, just a little bit, and if there's a way I can help you feel less alone, I'll be happy to. So talk to me." Jamshid looked at Dara with hopeful pleading eyes, "You can't bring back or change the past no matter how much you yearn for it, but you're here now, you can take as much time as you need to settle in, create your own memories that'll make you feel like you're home." Jamshid said with a trembling voice, eyes misty.

The expression of utter worry on Jamshid's face, the raw emotions in his voice and willingness to be open and share his vulnerability in an attempt to form a genuine connection with Dara melted his heart. Dara sat up, crossing his legs and placing both arms on his legs, he looked at Jamshid with appreciation, "Thank you, I appreciate everything you're done for me." Dara said, a small smile crossing his face. "What have you been doing all this time?" Dara added quickly.

Jamshid smiled shyly and picked up the sheet of paper to show Dara what he's been drawing. "It's a drawing of our day at the Bazaar, see?" Jamshid pointed at the two figures that stood out among the rest of the elements in the drawing that looked very similar to them both. One held books and the other held a khanjar. The drawing made Dara smile genuinely for the first time in a long while. "That's ridiculous! I'm much taller than that!" Dara protested biting back a laugh.

"If you think you can do a better job then be my guest!" Jamshid retorted, pointing at another set of art supplies prepared before him. "I bought too much for one person, so you can show me your skills." Jamshid said in a playful challenging voice.

Dara smirked and walked over to where his set was and sat down, grabbing a handful of brushes, getting ready to draw, "I'll show you a style you've never seen before, it'll put your finest artists to shame." Dara gloated as he dipped his brush with ink and started drawing.

Jamshid left the room and came back bringing two warmed up shawarma sandwiches he bought before coming home, and sat one plate beside Dara. Jamshid took one look at Dara's piece and couldn't contain his laughter, it was a drawing of two simple stick figures, one with curly long hair and the other with a khanjar on its waist. "Let me guess, that's you and Nahri?" Jamshid said, still laughing.

"If you could tell who's in it then it's good enough!" Dara said defensively, face flustered and mouth pouted.

Dara smelled the delicious sandwich and grabbed it immediately, he took one bite and sighed in pleasure. It tasted like heaven. "It's really good!" Dara said

"Told you" Jamshid said, puffing up his chest, feeling content that Dara loved it.

Dara took another bite as he began his next master piece, a drawing of him giving a child with braids a tulip flower. In this moment of bliss, Dara had wished his sister was with him to share these moments. Before he knew it, his vision blurred, he heard the sound of a closet door being shut and felt the warmth of a duvet covering him, and Jamshid sitting beside him patting his back. Silent tears trickled down his face after he sat the brush down, looking at the piece he's done.

Dara lay on the floor minutes later, and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of an extra duvet covering him. The soothing sound of wind chimes being the last he's heard before drifting off to a deep sleep, hoping for better and brighter dreams.

Perhaps Jamshid is right, and that with time and effort, Dara will feel like he's home again.

Maybe someday.

But not today.

**Author's Note:**

> The last scene is hilarious once you've read the extra Jamshid chapter and the end of COB.


End file.
